


Two Boys, One Cup... (Many Eyes)

by machka



Category: Bandom: Axium, Real Person Fiction, Tulsa Gangstas
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-25
Updated: 2008-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 02:37:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machka/pseuds/machka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Andy's 21st birthday, and Bryan buys him his first official mixed drink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Boys, One Cup... (Many Eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> ANNIE MADE ME DO IT. *points wildly in Annie's direction, OMG*
> 
> And [this is the video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7fJ2YB5g83s) that inspired the fic bunny that I adopted from [**annie2791**](http://annie2791.insanejournal.com/profile) \-- enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. The events described therein are not intended to represent actual events. No libel or defamation is intended in posting said fictitious work.
> 
> In other words, it's not real, because I made it all up.

"Finally! There's the birthday boy!!!"

Your voice manages to cut cleanly through the chaos of bar patrons with a head-start on insobriety to reach everyone's ears. Heads swivel his direction, and several random cheers go up as you watch him duck his head shyly, waving a hand in acknowledgment as he makes his first official stop at the bar for his first legal drink.

Because they simply can't help themselves, Neal and David begin a swaying, off-key, _deafening_ version of "Happy Birthday" -- punctuated by Josh's tabletop percussion and the occasional curse or shout of laughter from the crowded bar when one or the other forgets a word, which only serves to indicate exactly how much of a head-start those boys have actually had. It's only a matter of time before David leans a bit too far sideways in his chair and lands on the floor in a flailing heap, spewing invective while Neal faceplants on the table in hysterics.

Rolling your eyes as the assembled join Neal in merriment, you watch the grim-faced bartender take forever to study Andy's new ID before cracking a wide grin and passing it back with a beer and a shoulder-slap. With a shake of his head, Andy grabs both and turns to your table in the corner... and then turns back to the bar, his shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles.

Swearing under your breath, you leap to your feet and weave your way through the crowd to his side.

"Hey, Skib -- what's with the beer, birthday boy?"

He throws you a frankly puzzled look, and contemplates the bottle in front of him. "What? That's what I always drink..."

"That's what I mean, Andyman. You _always_ drink beer."

Puzzlement on his face is replaced with outright confusion. "Well, yeah, man - it's what Dave always bought me before--" He stops abruptly, shooting a sidelong glance at the bartender, who's listening in on your conversation with a knowing smile and nod. "--Anyways, it's what I'm used to," he finishes weakly.

The bartender barks out a laugh and slaps Andy's shoulder again. "Easier to pass it off as someone else's, right?" he chortles as Andy's face reddens.

You glance up and catch his eye. "Cap and coke, tall glass?"

"What..." Andy protests, gesturing with his bottle, and you shut him up with a look, draping an arm around his shoulders.

"No, Skibby -- we're gonna do this _right_."

His eyes widen as he watches the bartender pour the drink, and you stifle a giggle behind your hand.

 _This should be interesting._

Your giggle turns to an outright guffaw at the stricken look on Andy's face when the bartender pushes the glass his way with a wink and a meant-to-be-encouraging "bottoms up!"

You take the drink's straw -- a _straw_ , like he's a kid, you giggle to yourself -- and twirl it around the glass a few times to mix it for him.

"The first couple of sips are always the hardest," you tell him solemnly, "But I promise it gets a lot easier the more you drink. C'mon, give it a try."

He grabs the glass, and takes a deep, steeling breath before screwing his eyes shut with a grimace. "Fuck, it smells like cough syrup!" he blurts out, pulling his lips into a moue, and you can't help but laugh again.

"Are you sure about this, Bryan?" he asks, eyeing the concoction skeptically.

"Absolutely," you assure him.

He delays the inevitable a few more seconds by stirring the drink again, and...Well.

You must be drunker than you thought.

You're suddenly watching him moving in slow motion, leaning forward to capture the straw between his parted lips -- his pink, moist, _perfect_ lips -- and they close around that lucky, _lucky_ straw in the most erotic pucker you've ever seen, and you watch his cheeks hollow as he sucks and his eyes widen as the liquid scorches across his tastebuds and his eyes _close_ and you watch his throat work as he swallows and my _God_ , the boy has absolutely no idea what it's doing to you in your pants to _see_ that...

And then his eyes drift open, and he's gazing up at you from beneath those impossibly long lashes, and his lips part again, and his tongue -- my God, his _tongue_ \-- darts out to lick his lips, and you suddenly find it difficult to breathe, much less stand, as every spare drop of blood in your body pools in your groin and dear God, why didn't you wear sweatpants tonight instead of these jeans?

You snap your mouth shut from where it's gaping open, and have to swallow once yourself before you'll trust your voice not to break.

"So... How...how is it?"

Andy dips his head and glances up almost shyly, holding the glass out to you. "You wanna taste?"

Holy shit -- if you didn't know any better, you'd swear the kid was _flirting_ with you...

Giving your head a violent shake to clear it, you grab a straw of your own from the nearby bin and plunge it into the ice of his drink (and _God_ you don't even want to think about how phallic _that_ just was...), and you bend forward yourself to close your mouth around your straw, and he's watching you so intently that it sends a jolt straight to your cock...

And then -- and _then_ \-- he leans forward again, touching his forehead to yours, and uses his tongue to manipulate his straw back between those _perfect fucking lips,_ which he then lifts to reveal his even-more-perfect teeth closed lightly over the straw's tip, holding it in place...

You groan in spite of yourself and tear your gaze away from his mouth to stare into his eyes, which are narrowed and crinkled at the sides by the same smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Gotcha!" he says softly.

Holy fuck. The little shit knew what he was doing all along.

And then you're fisting a hand through his hair, dragging him off of the straw and towards your mouth, and your lips are colliding with his in a rough and heated kiss, and your eyes go wide with realization as the barroom falls abruptly quiet...

 _FUCK._

He pulls back in the silence, studying your face with a little half-smirk and a raised eyebrow.

"I thought you'd never ask," he breathes, and then he's slamming the drink down on the bar and grabbing your shirt with both hands and dragging you against him.

Just about the time his tongue slips inside your mouth, the room erupts in catcalls, wolf whistles, and cheers.

The loudest whoops are from the Kings' table, and Neal and David are literally _crying_ with laughter in each others' arms. Your face is burning with embarrassment, and you just _know_ you'll never live this down... but then Andy's tongue is sliding along the roof of your mouth and you just plain _don't give a fuck_ anymore.


End file.
